


The Jester and Assassin

by CharbroilLaFlamme



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Assassin - Freeform, Assassination, Blood, Death, Disturbing Themes, Fanfiction, Gen, Headcanon, Jester - Freeform, Killing, Laughter, Minor Character Death, Murder, Old Writing, POV First Person, Skyrim - Freeform, Violence, driven to madness, references to blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-28 21:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14457702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharbroilLaFlamme/pseuds/CharbroilLaFlamme
Summary: Okay, so, I have a crap-ton of stuff written about Cicero’s history. But a lot of it’s very... eh. I tended only to like writing the parts where he started going mad. And therefor, I’ll be putting those up because... well, those are the only parts I liked that I wrote! So enjoy some of that year-old writing! (I might add more!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This part in particular I feel is really my favourite since I put a lot of heart into making it really sort of feel like the beginning of a downward spiral.
> 
> I also wanted to give the Jester that Cicero assassinated a name and personality to go on (intelligent, jovial, insidious, manipulative), and a sense that this Jester was different from what Cicero had ever faced.
> 
> I wanted it to seem as though this Jester, Ermis, was unsettlingly knowing—but not outwardly malignant. He was not presented as an enemy to Cicero, but he knew full well how to burrow into someone’s head.

The Contract was brief, I was intrigued by the idea that such an essence of laughter in a court was being put to death with little to no explanation.  
A few ideas zipped by:  
A thief? A beggar? An assassin as well?  
Or just a mere bother to others around him?

The circumstances of the whole thing didn't matter much to me at that point. It was business, we didn't spend our hard-earned Contract time investigating and nitpicking every little inconsistency.

We made them bleed, people got scared, and we got paid.  
It was symbiotic.

 

* * *

 

Many hours went by as I followed the cackling man in his work, passing him by, hearing him laugh—a sound which made a shudder ride down my spine with its echo. I sat in his halls, watching him and studying him. His dancing form exuding cheer.  
Though some must not have felt the same about him. Judging by why I was there in the first place.

It was in a great court that I finally met him, _Ermis_ , the Jester. The joker. The clown.

Mad and giggling. He was clothed up in a green and blue cotton outfit with gold thread trim and a jester's cap tossed lop-sidedly on his head to cover a mop of brown, wavy hair. His eyes were a wicked, jaunty blue-grey, and he had a thin, healed-over scar adorning his cheek up to his temple. Curious.

"Hello, hello, stranger!" Ermis greeted, bowing deep down, the bells on his hat jingling softly.  
"You're Ermis?" I inquired.  
"That is I." He said, warm, but at the same time, cold. "I trust your day is full of fortune?"  
"I suppose." He was all too cheery for my liking.  
"So... You're here to kill me, no?"  
I made a short noise, born of chilled confusion.  
"Don't lie! Ermis knew it was coming. Ermis doesn't fear death, he laughs with death." The madcap said, hushed with a finger to his lips. "Come walk with me, assassin."

It was far, far away. Ermis skipped along. "I am left to wonder which of the court has called for Ermis' killing."  
"I see." I said, walking beside him. I wondered so myself.  
"Who are you, stranger? I know you are an assassin, but one would like to know your name."  
I had not met someone such as this before, and answered. "Cicero. My name is Cicero."  
"Ahh, _Cicero_ , what a noble calling!"  
"Thanks, I suppose."  
"Of course you are anything but noble, hm?" He cackled.  
There was that laugh again... so damned  _happy_. Jovial. Spirited. Smiling. It was like cheeriness in a most beautiful sound.

We were soon off the beaten path. He sat down on an old felled tree with peeling bark and sprouting fungus. He began looking grimly up at me. "To be honest, poor Ermis has been failing to do his duties properly as entertainer." He mused.  
"Has he?"  
"Oh yes, so few find my jokes funny anymore, so Ermis has taken to making himself laugh as penance." He looked up further. "Would you allow me to jest once more?"  
"I... _Yes_." I answered, impulsively.  
"You grant Ermis this last wish?... Very well." He cleared his throat and took in a long breath before continuing, "How do you kill a jester _without_ being noticed?" He said. He tilted his head inquisitively with a long grin.  
I shrugged.  
" _You just do it!_ " He looked up to the trees... and then he began to laugh again. Till near breathlessness.  
That odd sound full of mirth. No laugh like it. Loud. Too loud. Yet something else entirely. Laughter from the darkest corners of his mind. Drearily echoing. Laughter of a lost man.  
I felt something rise up from myself. Something dark.  
His laughter became mine.

He finally stopped laughing, lying in the dirt with a torn throat while he was still convulsing his last breath. But still tittering. Eyes open and glazed. " _He_... _he_... _Get it_...?" He regurgitated a small spout of blood after his last words, dying with a grin.

Body splayed out in the god-rays and beginning its change from corpse to compost.

That laughter only stayed while he left this world to serve Sithis. Following me out of those shrouded woods, my hands resting on my head as I left the darkness and into the painful light.

_Oh, how he laughed and laughed... until he didn't._


	2. Payment In Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the next part I was happy with! It was a fun little segment where the full extent of Cicero’s faith is shown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cicero HATES traitors. This part was where a faith-crazy Cicero catches a Brother claiming false authority as the Listener. But Cicero is clever to pry.
> 
> It took a lot of researching to understand how I wanted Rasha to be: Controlling, sly, charismatic, and kind of impulsive.
> 
> He very much cares about the Brotherhood, but is a lot like Astrid later on, running the Brotherhood in such a way that may hurt them more than help them.
> 
> Cicero is later on reminded by this treachery when Astrid comes into the picture.

There had not been a Contract for so long. And Cicero had feared there would be nothing there for us.  
Nothing but your silence, Mother. Silence like the Void.  
Like the soundless midnight with a knife in its hand, creeping up on daylight.  
The silence had since grown pregnant with anticipation, much less like a forever quiet, and more of a pause, waiting to find the one she liked enough to speak those words to.  
Cicero was eager to serve the one lucky enough to be the subject of the... Binding Words.  
But Mother was. Not. _Speaking!_  
Not a peep nor squeak in the dark.  
I thought I had heard her voice once. But it was only Ermis' laughter again, spiting me from the Void again, like usual...

Silence was all feelings at once.  
Silence was loneliness, and yet a comfort like sleep.  
Love, and hate. Her quietude... dooming us with a slack-jawed, silent death rattle. A face that made Cicero tremble in eagerness, mouth open, but no words or sound, nor a breath. A suspicious lack of decay or insect degradation.  
"It's been a long time, Mother. Have you anything to say to humble Cicero?" I said. "Of course not! Nobody is worthy of your grace. Not yet. Not even your _obliging_ Keeper, Cicero."

Who could possibly be that one you've chosen? Who could be so worthy...? So fortunate to receive this blessing?  
Certainly not myself. Or anyone we could possibly know.

 

* * *

 

I blessed the Night Mother's body again, applying another coat of oil, kneeling at her feet with the book. The efforts became ever duller, as much an honour as it was, it had become slow and mildly monotonous.  
But if I kept trying, perhaps the day will come that my efforts will prove worth our while.

Seemingly it had one day, as Rasha triumphantly named himself Listener.  
His voice was bright, merry, too much so, and his eyes were flicking back and forth—like a liar. But I gave him a chance.  
A _fool_ Cicero was for this.

"It seems the Keeper has done his duties well enough, the Night Mother has spoken to me, Brothers!"  
Rasha attempted to push me away from the Night Mother jealously.  
And Cicero shoved back.  
Oh, Cicero did, yes.  
Rasha was not going to get away with this fallacy. This... _miscarriage_ of justice.  
"You dare to call yourself _Listener_?"  
" _Enough_ Cicero, you've done your work, and now the Brotherhood has no need of your foolish rituals, the Night Mother appointed _me_ , you... _madcap_!"

" _Foolish_ , you say?" I turned my head to him furiously. "Cicero will _not_ stand for—" then I hesitated. Then I thought a moment. I spoke after that pause. "Cicero has but _one_ question, _Listener_.” I furrowed my brow and stared up into Rasha's eyes with a victorious grin. "What did she say, Rasha? What phrase has she given _you_? _O Listener?_ "  
Rasha's lips pursed. "What does it matter, little fool?"  
"Oh, she must have told you something. _Cicero_ knows the words, does the _Listener_?"

Pausing, he failed to answer. And Cicero had lost his temper.

" _Liar! Deceiver! Charlatan!_ And... _defiler_!" I cried. "You dare claim to be Listener? Sithis damn you to Oblivion! Heresy and slander!"

No anger had been felt so deep as had mine at the moment, Ermis' laugher had faded out to give way to my brain filled brimming with outrage.  
"The Night mother would never speak to you, _debaser_!"

Oh, but Rasha had been jealous for a long, long time of Alisanne... why wouldn't he claim to be Listener in her place?  
Cicero knew the feelings Rasha was expressing, the envy and bitterness, desperation, exhaustion... but the Night Mother was _not_ to be toyed with. The Night Mother is no liar. Nor is she a chooser of just _anyone_... Rasha was a mere _pretender_.  
Rasha had incurred Cicero's wrath.  
Rasha needed to die for his betrayal.  
The Night Mother deserved _true_ followers. Not fabricators and liars who would use her as a means of rising in rank.  
Such as... _Rasha_...

Garnag understood, his brother was at fault. A teller of false tales.  
I was not to be the raiser of the blade. No, _Garnag_ was to get the honour of the first blood.  
I had not a doubt in my mind that Rasha was just that.  
"Brother Garnag." I said, the volume of a whisper. "Your brother, the detestable Rasha, must pay in blood..."


	3. Birth of Laughter Incarnate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero spirals downward, whee!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cicero becomes something more than Cicero. Vessel to that laughter he had heard for too long.
> 
> I liked writing this part because it’s much less physical a description of death than a visualisation of Cicero losing himself to his crazed devotion and loneliness.
> 
> He fully embraces the spirit of Ermis and clings on to that laughter, the only voice he’d had for so long. Ermis was indeed the beginning to Cicero’s unravelling.
> 
> As mentioned, Ermis was manipulative, and insidious, a trickster. His last effort to change someone’s world with laughter, though likely not in the way he thought it would.

_Cicero_.

Alone again with nothing but the doomed walls.

I was to stay put as Garnag had said. With our darling Matron.

Damnedest duties... But Mother must be kept! And kept! And kept! And _kept_!

Clean and warm and comfy! Happy! Perhaps she must be cleaner?  
Something tells me it's been three months? Could have been more? Less? No, three! _Three!_

 _Ah_ , no matter, Cicero will stay as told, Garnag's return will be soon.

But still, he is gone, and Cicero is starved. _So. Very. Starved._

And that laugh still stays like always. The Jester... taunting me with happiness that I do not _truly_ feel?

I laughed that night.  
Tried... So very _hard_ to know Garnag's fate.

But nothing came to me. No answers. No signs.

So I remained in my place. As Garnag said to.  
Good, sweet Cicero will obey.  
As faithful as a dog.

Cicero was... back at square one.

 

* * *

 

One day, I was full to choking with the disembodied laughter. Suffocating. Drowning. _Asphyxiating!_

Until I died.... but was reborn from the ashes of it all.

Cicero opened his eyes. Seeing colour. But also discolour.

I felt rejuvenated.  
As the Jester had finally _won_.

Now Cicero was no longer _himself_. A husk. A broken cocoon. A spider's moulting remains. Snakeskin and shed fur. Wriggling to freedom from within my skull.

The Jester consumed the last of Cicero and took his place like a welcome parasite—there to toy with and desecrate each reasonable thought. Comfortable inside his echo-filled head.

The master of the play now. Something more than a pawn. But... _tragedy_! O, I'd miss the the thrills courtesy of my blade—As well as _Cicero_ himself!

I was something else. Inhuman. Not Cicero, and yet _still_ Cicero. Void-touched and swallowed by the sanguine colour of the night. Violated by the winding cackles of the dead.

I wanted no more than this.  
Finally, warmth from a friend.  
The Night Mother, witness to the death of Cicero—and the birth of the Fool of Hearts.

Embodiment of laughter.

Incarnation of joy.

Steadfast, cheerful servant of the Void, the Dread Father, Sithis and the Melancholy Matron, the Night Mother.  
O, surely they looked upon Cicero with pride.

How I longed for this release from despondence. A kind of shivering eagerness came anew to Cicero when the Void-born spirit of merriment made a bloody nest of my heart.

My companion no more. But a part of I.


	4. Emergence of Cicero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero emerges into the world after so long, too long. Emerging as the Jester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cicero comes out after years of isolation as a new man. I wanted to make it something more foreboding. As this was a bit before he actually involved himself in the “pretender’s” Sanctuary.
> 
> He is coming out as someone so isolated and secluded that he has little to no recollection of how to act in the outside world. But he is still cognizant enough to understand what a sacrilege a Motherless sanctuary is.

Years.

Since we had last seen sunlight fully in daytime, Cicero and the Jester. Cicero _the_ Jester.  
Cicero cries for nobody is worthy of _Her_.

Cheydinhal has been lonely like Cicero ever since the Jester's laughter made my body _his_.

My journal had not been touched in a long time, Cicero felt guilty, as I recalled my original plans for it. A story for the younger generations. A lesson on making mistakes.

I had to wonder, how long had Cicero been waiting to fully emerge?  
Long enough? _Forever?_

The riots seemed to fade out of memory for me, locked up behind the great iron door, coming out once in a while In the dead of night to hunt for supplies.  
Anyone nearby would see _none_ of sly little Cicero—who had grown thin and savage in his lonely years, _like a rat_ , as Rasha once called me.  
Well, dead, dead Rasha's corpse was rotting in the halls, still as ever, a meal for worms and rodents. A teller of time. Of history. Of betrayal.

I could scarce remember how long I had been secluded.

I refused to come to the door when people knocked, crouched in the dark. Who knew what was out there? More bandits? Perhaps brothers and sisters? _Ghosts?_

But perhaps Cicero was only _imagining_ the sounds of rescue.  
He could hear all now that the laughter was no longer sound but soul.

As long as Cicero had Mother... he was alright.

 

* * *

 

When Cicero had come out, into the air and sunlight, he hissed like an uncivilised beast, but was compelled to walk further out, blinded by the daylight.

I grumbled, muttering. Shielding my eyes.

There came a beauty. An elven maiden in dress and fancy.  
She carried a basket of flowers in her thin arms, singing a song like the pretty bird she was.  
Cicero felt a long-coveted itch. A want. He knelt.  
_Kill. Kill. Kill._  
I felt my lips move with the very tempting thoughts. My lashing hand touching the scabbard if my blade.  
_I mustn't. Cicero mustn't. My duties cannot make way for... petty pleasures and thrills._

I wanted so to stain that dress with her blood and shred it asunder with my most trustworthy blade. Leave her body in torn ribbons and tiny, lost pieces to be eaten by the wildlife and to feed the trees.

Cicero had little time to kill again. It was a well-missed pastime, and an activity of great enjoyment for him. But utterly pointless without a Contract to back it.  
And Cicero could not take Contracts anymore, and he could not listen to those Contracts from Mother.

_Damnedest misfortune._

I suddenly remembered how much I yearned for the voice I would never hear.

I had caught wind however of good news. From the east, Skyrim, that a sanctuary remains. Remains somehow. Without a Listener nor Night Mother at their back.  
How intriguing. And yet... _suspicious_.


End file.
